A Clean Break (Gay Amish Romance Book 2) (23 page)

“Then show me your ID, and we can all get on with our lives.” The man was around forty, and he wore a shirt featuring a big black ball on the front with a paw print and the words
Alley Cats
above. It stretched over his belly.

“I don’t have any.” Should he explain that he was Amish and some lawyer in Ohio was trying to get his birth certificate? Instead he blurted, “It was stolen.”

The man shrugged. “Sucks to be you, kid. But I can’t sell to you without it.”

Anger sliced through David’s embarrassment. “I’m a grown man! Just take the money!” He threw down a few bills and grabbed the vodka bottle. He had to bring it home to replace what he’d drunk. Alcohol was expensive, so it was only right.

The clerk whipped his hand out and wrapped it around the top of the bottle. “I said no ID, no sale. Am I going to have to call the cops?”

“Kid, give it up. Come on. There’s a line,” said a male voice.

David realized there were now two more people behind the woman, who huffed.

“Seriously—no one has time for this shit today. Come back when you have ID.” The clerk yanked the bottle away and pushed the crumpled money across the counter. “Go on.”

Face burning, David snatched the bills and shoved them in his jacket pocket as he stormed outside. It was raining and cold, and he bent his head as he stalked down the street.
Kid
. But they were right, weren’t they? He didn’t even have a wallet yet, just keys and cash stuffed in his pockets with his phone. Not one piece of identification to prove who he was.

And who am I?

Rain dripped into his eyes as he walked block after block. He’d had a good day, content in his workshop where everything made sense. There had been no thumping music today, and he’d lost himself in the rhythm of the work, smoothing wood and shaping it into the legs for Clark’s chairs. Isaac had called in the afternoon, and David was happy listening to him talk excitedly about a report he was writing about the Civil War.

Now David’s nerves jangled.
Kid
. Aaron had said he was just starting out in the English world—that he was young. But David couldn’t be young. There was no time for that. He needed to be a man.

Cars zoomed, and people clogged the sidewalks. The air felt thick with exhaust fumes as a bus chugged by, and David turned down another street, and then another, trying to get away from the noise. As he came to a stop light and looked up, he realized it was almost dark. In the growing glow of the street lights, the rain was a mist.

Closing his eyes, he thought of a canopy of stars, and riding across the fields with Kaffi strong and sure under him. The warmth of his flanks and the roughness of his mane. He imagined Isaac’s arms around him, his head resting against David’s back as they made their way through the forest, alone in the night with the leaves whispering.

A horn blared, and David snapped open his eyes, jumping back as headlights flashed toward him, blinding. Somehow he’d stepped off the curb.

“Watch it!” someone shouted.

His heart pounding, David retreated from the sidewalk, pressing back against a nearby building. He was under a sign, and water dripped in fat plops on his head and shoulders. He focused on breathing until his hands stopped shaking. The fear that he’d have another incident like he had the night before had bile rising in his throat.

Please God. Help me
.

He reeled off a prayer in his mind, and the dread receded. But when David glanced around, the back of his neck prickled. He squinted at the street signs, but the names were meaningless. He went back to the curb and peered in each direction.

There were shops, and what looked to be small apartment buildings. He realized with a shiver that he didn’t even know which way he’d come from. A bus passed, but it was a different number and name than the
14 Mission
bus he took until he caught the
24 Divisadero
across.

It’s okay. I’ll call Isaac. He’ll find me
. It was pathetic how it took David three tries to press the right button, his fingers clumsy as his heart raced. He couldn’t have gone that far. It was okay. He waited for the screen to light up.

Nothing.

He pressed the round button again. The phone stubbornly remained black. Muttering English curses, David wiped the screen with his sleeve and pressed the button over and over before trying the one on the top. “Come on!”

It was no good. He shook the phone violently, barely restraining himself from smashing it to the sidewalk. The urge to scream was overwhelming, and he blinked back tears. “Stop. It’s fine. You’re fine.”

He was being ridiculous. If he truly was a grown man, surely he could find his way. Yet the alarm that curdled his stomach lingered as he walked the streets. Block after block, he only seemed to be making himself more lost.

David plowed on as a damp wind blew up. He stopped by a large window, peeking inside at the dark wood tables and televisions on the walls. This was what the English would call a pub, he thought. It looked warm and inviting, and he pulled open the door.

It was called Flanagan’s, and inside he walked by banks of cozy booths, most empty. There were people here and there, but the bar wasn’t crowded the way the Beacon had been, which was a relief.

He unzipped his jacket and hung it on a tall pole near the bar. Fortunately his purple Henley was only a little damp around the collar. The round stool squeaked as he sat. There was only one other customer at the bar, all the way at the other end, hunched over a beer and watching the basketball game on the TV behind the counter.

The bartender, a big, thick older man with bushy graying hair, nodded to him as he tossed down a hard paper coaster in front of David. “What’ll it be?”

He thought of the night before. “Vodka.”

“How do you want it?”

David blinked. “How do most people drink it?”

The man tilted his head. “Do you have ID?”

For an instant, David thought he might actually cry. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “No. I grew up Amish, and I left home a couple of months ago. I don’t have any ID yet. I got lost, and I can’t find the right bus to get back to Bernal Heights. I just want a drink.”

The bartender’s thick eyebrows shot up. “That’s one you don’t hear every day.”

David worked to keep his voice steady. “I’m twenty-two, I swear.”

“Okay. I believe you. Looks like you sure could use a drink. How about a vodka tonic?”

He had no idea what that was, but nodded. “Thank you.”

The bartender returned a minute later with a short glass full of ice and a sparkling clear liquid. A slice of lime rested on the side, and there was a little white straw sticking out. “Here you go. Want to start a tab?”

“All right.” David wasn’t sure what that meant, but it probably wasn’t bad. He peered at the lime. “Do I put that in the drink?”

“Sure. Give it a squeeze and a stir. What’s your name?”

“David.” He picked up the lime and squeezed, jumping as some of the juice hit his chin.

“I’m Gary.” The bartender held out his hand. “Good to meet you.”

David shook Gary’s hand. “You too.” He took a swallow of his vodka tonic. It was bitter, but he sighed in relief. If he drank this, he’d feel better. He wouldn’t get sick like he did before.

“Tough day, huh?” Gary picked up a rag and began polishing glasses.

“Yes.” David felt terribly foolish. “I’m not sure how I managed to get lost.”

“Happens to the best of us. Don’t worry—I’ll give you directions so you can find the bus. It’s only a few blocks away.”

“Really?” David smiled for the first time in what felt like hours. “Thank you.” He took another drink, the comforting burn and buzz already flowing through him.

Gary wore a simple black shirt and pants, and aside from the shiny buttons, David could almost imagine they were plain clothes. Which was stupid, since Gary didn’t have a beard and obviously wasn’t Amish. Still, there was something about him that put David at ease. “I’ve never been lost like that before.”

Gary chuckled. “This city ain’t exactly easy to navigate. Don’t sweat it. Are you from back east? Pennsylvania?”

“Minnesota, actually.”

“There are Amish people in Minnesota? Huh.” Gary picked up the next glass from his tray and polished it thoroughly. “So what brings you to the coast?”

“My…” David hesitated. He didn’t think this was a gay bar, so he should be cautious. “I left with someone else, and his brother lives here. We’re staying with him and his wife.”

“That’s good that you have people to help. Must be quite an adjustment. Not that I know a lot about the Amish aside from what I’ve seen in movies and on TV. But I sure know that if you dropped me on a farm with no technology, I’d be toast. Total culture shock.”

The ice cubes clinked in his glass as David finished his drink.
Culture shock
. “Yeah. I thought I knew a lot about the English world, but as it turns out, I don’t know much at all.”

“Another?” Gary pointed to David’s empty glass, taking it away when David nodded and pulling out a fresh one. “English?”

“English is what we call anyone non-Amish.”

“Gotcha. So how did you know anything about us?”

“I’d seen some movies and used electricity at my friend’s house. I didn’t think it would be this hard.” As he said the words aloud, it was a strange relief to admit it. It was
hard
.

Gary placed the fresh drink on the coaster. “Seeing movies and stuff—did you do that during that…what do you call it? Rumspringa? I saw something on TV about Amish kids dealing meth. Crazy shit.” He nodded to someone at the other end of the bar. “Hold on. Gotta get Joe a refill.”

While Gary poured another beer from one of the shiny taps, memories flickered through David’s mind. Joshua running wild in Red Hills, and their parents bemoaning it helplessly. The sharp rap on the door, and two policemen standing outside, their hats tucked under their arms. The terrible grief that led them to Zebulon and even more rules.

David swirled the straw around his glass, images of Isaac taking over his thoughts. The brightness of his smile, and the way his eyes went dark with passion. The sweetness of his kisses, and how his laughter and cries of pleasure had echoed in the rafters of the barn. All the rules in the world couldn’t have stopped him and Isaac from loving each other. It was so much more than a rumspringa.

“Well, there’s a happy face,” Gary said as he took up his polishing again. “Penny for your thoughts.”

“Just thinking about my friend. The one I came here with.” David knew he was blushing, and he examined the polished surface of the bar, running his fingers over it.

“Good friend, huh?”

David took a deep breath. “More than that. We’re…” He glanced up at Gary. The man was a perfect stranger, but somehow it felt right to talk about it.
Maybe the English and their PDAs are rubbing off
. “I love him.” As soon as the words left his mouth, David braced.

But Gary only smiled as he put a glass on the shelf. “That’s nice.” He whistled softly. “Hoo boy, I don’t imagine being gay is too popular with the folks at home. Being so religious and whatnot.”

David smiled sadly. “No. Not at all.”

“It’s good you two found each other then. What’s his name?”

“Isaac.”

“Hey, that’s my son’s name.” Gary pulled a leather wallet from his back pocket and flipped it open. “That’s my wife Karen with Isaac and Julie. The kids are older now. So are we, of course. Should get a new picture done.”

David peered at the photo of the happy family, which was in a plastic sleeve. Gary and his wife stood behind their children, who were teenagers. They all smiled brightly in front of some kind of background that had mottled blues. Isaac had Gary’s wide nose and broad forehead. “You all look nice. I wish I had a picture of my family.”

Gary returned his wallet to his pocket. “Do you just not have any with you, or are there no pictures allowed?”

“No pictures allowed.” David sipped his drink. “Sometimes I feel like I’ll forget what they look like.” He forced a smile. “It’s stupid.” He reached for a bowl of nuts and popped a few into his mouth.

“Not stupid at all. So is that why you and Isaac left your town? Because you’re gay?”

David nodded. “We could never be together there. But there were other reasons too. All the rules, and living plain…it’s difficult. I questioned it sometimes.” The words seemed to pour out with each sip of his drink.

“I think
difficult
is an understatement.”

“I’d wonder if it’s really the only right way. Maybe God cares more about what’s in our hearts than whether or not we have electric lights, or how wide the brims of our hats are. Or even if we wear hats at all.” He said the words, but he wished he could truly believe them. He ran a hand through his damp hair. “I’m sorry. I’m talking a lot. If you have work to do please don’t let me stop you.”

Gary held up his rag and a glass. “I’m doing it. Besides, I’m a bartender. It’s my job to listen to my customers.” He smiled. “And for the record, what you have to say is a whole lot more interesting than Joe bitching about the Warriors. Tell me, what is it you do? For work, I mean.”

“I’m a carpenter.”

“Is that so? I was never very handy, so my hat’s off to you.”

“Have you always been a bartender?” It didn’t seem like a bad job.

“Yep. Since college. I managed to avoid the draft by the skin of my teeth, and I vowed I’d do something I enjoyed once I was done with the business degree my dad insisted on. So here I am. Have to admit the degree did come in handy when I decided to buy my own place.”

“This is your bar?”

“It is indeed. Gary Flanagan at your service, just like the name on the window.” He grinned. “Been twenty years, and it still makes me proud.”

“Maybe I’ll have my own store for my furniture one day.” The thought made David warm inside.

“I bet you will. Just takes hard work, a bit of luck, and oh yeah, even more hard work.” He pointed to David’s empty glass with raised eyebrows.

David nodded. “I don’t mind. I’m used to that.” Something else Gary had said niggled at him. “This is probably a stupid question, but what did you mean about the draft?”